


both hands on the wheel of a getaway car

by helsinkibaby



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Community: 1-million-words, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Het, Rare Pairings, References to past trauma, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 18:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7585375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe has developed a simple coping mechanism. It's about to get a little more complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	both hands on the wheel of a getaway car

**Author's Note:**

> For the Star Trek quotes weekend challenge at 1 million words.   
> Prompt :   
> I'm a much more complicated man than you give me credit for, Major. -- Dukat (Return to Grace)
> 
> Title from "Complicated" by Kip Moore.

There's bourbon in the glass in front of him and a whole lot more in the bottle behind the bar. Joe knows that, just like he knows that tonight will not be the night that he breaks down and orders a second shot. One for the road, he tells himself every night. Enough to take the edge off while still leaving himself able to drive. Sober enough to face into whatever the hell Barry might tell him when he gets home, blurred enough around the edges not to feel it overmuch. 

One drink, Joe knows, is plenty. No matter how tempted he might be to check otherwise. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he gives serious thought to not answering it. Only for a second though. After all, it could be Barry with another meta human crisis. Or Cisco, with another Barry crisis. Or Iris, wanting to know if he's going to be home soon and that can either mean she's ready to dish up dinner or, more likely lately, she and Barry are planning some couple time and none of the three of them want to think too much about what it would be like for Joe to walk in on them. 

So he checks his phone but it's not a call, it's a text message. And it's not from any of the three main culprits he just listed, but from his boss. Which is weird in and of itself because David would usually just call him if something was up. 

The message is short and to the point, but no less cryptic for that. "You can thank me in the morning," is all it says and he stares at it and stares at it and wonders what the hell David means. 

He doesn't have to wait long to find out. 

Because as he's trying to formulate a way to write "Dude, what the hell?" to his boss and not sound like Cisco or Barry and therefore get himself fired, there's a familiar voice at his ear. 

"This seat taken?" 

Before he can answer, Doctor Caitlin Snow slides into the seat beside his, tosses her long brown curls over her shoulder and gives him a bright smile. She's wearing one of those form fitting little dresses she usually favours, not that he makes it a point of noticing because of so many reasons, but she does have a good figure and a nice pair of legs and he has eyes. As he's processing the fact that she's here, she crosses those legs, which makes her skirt ride up just above her knee and makes Joe think seriously about ordering that second drink. 

"Caitlin." He knows he sounds flustered, which is because he is. Luckily, however, he has an excuse for that. "Is Barry..."

"Barry is fine." Her voice is firm, if a little amused. "Last I heard, he and Iris were planning a romantic date." Joe reaches for the glass and knocks back a mouthful. Her lips twitch like she's trying to hide a smile. "Cisco and Wally, meanwhile, were planning a boys' night out." She actually rolls her eyes and he doesn't  bother trying to hide his smirk. 

"And of all the gin joints in all the world..." he drawls and she looks down, a slight tinge of red crossing her cheeks. 

Suddenly, David's text message makes a lot of sense and he knows what she's going to say before she speaks. In all his dealings with Caitlin, he's noticed she's not one for bullshit. He's always appreciated that about her. "No," she says. "I went by the precinct looking for you." A shudder passes through her body, barely perceptible, but his detective's eyes don't miss it. It takes a moment but then he remembers the last time that she would have been in the precinct - held prisoner by Zoom - and the movement makes a lot more sense. She covers it up well, so quickly that he almost - almost - thinks he imagined it. "Captain Singh told me you'd probably be here." She eyes his glass significantly, then lifts her eyes to him. She lifts one eyebrow and the question goes unspoken. 

He answers it anyway. 

"I come here some nights." He could have said "most" but didn't; she doesn't call him on it. "Just for one." 

He's expecting her to answer, instead she just signals the bartender, points to his glass, indicating she'll have whatever he's having. She shoots Joe a look and he shakes his head - he'll stick with just one. 

For now. 

When the drink comes, she closes her fingers around the glass, raises it in midair in front of him for a moment, then knocks half of it back in one go. She places the glass smoothly back down on the bar, doesn't cough, doesn't splutter and Joe realises suddenly that he might not be the only one who's picked up a habit. 

"Did Barry send you?" he wonders and she chuckles, not unkindly. 

"Barry's so wrapped up in Iris, I'm surprised he can remember his own name." Which is not news to him, even if it's a little more detail than he ever wants to know. "Besides... when he sees you, he sees his father figure... his confidante... the tough cop with all the answers."

Joe cocks an eyebrow, lifts his glass to his lips. "And you think I'm a more complicated man than he gives me credit for?" 

Caitlin doesn't blink. "I know you are." 

He sets his glass down without taking a sip, curls his fingers around it to stop their sudden shake. He doesn't speak, not because he doesn't want to, but because he can't. 

"You're the one everyone comes to for answers," she continues. "Barry, Iris, Wally, even Cisco now. And we've all had..." She swallows hard, continues, "Such a hard year... You've been worried about Barry losing Henry and Wally and Iris losing their mom, but you lost a friend, a wife..."

Joe shakes his head. "Francine hadn't been my wife for nearly twenty years," he reminded her, lips pursing with a bitterness he couldn't quite hide. "And I put Henry in jail." 

"Which makes it all the worse." He lifts his head from the bourbon, meets her eyes and in that one look he knows she's seeing him more clearly than anyone else has in years. 

It's a thought that terrifies him and, not so strangely, exhilarates him too. 

She takes a small sip of her drink before turning the glass in circles on the bar, leaving little wet impressions in her wake. "Remember when Barry was in the coma?" Her voice was very quiet. 

He does. He remembers all too well. "All those late nights where you saved me with coffee from the decent stash?" They'd both spent a lot of time at Barry's bedside over those nine months, an easy rapport developing between the two of them. The kind of rapport he hadn't had with a woman since Francine had left, the kind of conversations that made a man look at the woman beside him and wonder, "What if?"

Then Barry had woken up and become The Flash and the world had gone mad all around them. 

He hadn't realised how much he missed talking to her until just now. 

"Yeah." She stared straight ahead, unwilling or unable to meet his gaze. "I've been seeing a therapist since..." There's that shudder again. "Well, you know." 

Joe frowns because he hadn't even realised that was possible. "What do those conversations sound like?" Too late he realises what the question sounds like but she doesn't seem offended by it. 

"Being widowed is being widowed, no matter how it happened. And as for the other..." Her fingers tighten on her glass. "I figured if I reframe the narrative as an abusive boyfriend..."

Joe snorts. "Narrative doesn't need reframing." He can still remember standing upstairs in the precinct, looking down at her handcuffed to a desk, meeting her eyes and wordlessly asking her if she was all right. The look in her eyes as she'd looked back up at him... Well, when he'd got home, that had been a two glass night. 

Caitlin huffs her agreement but there's a small smile playing around the edges of her lips. "I haven't told anyone else." That admission surprises him as much as the fact that she's seeing a therapist. "I don't know why. It's not like I'm ashamed. But I think we all need someone to talk to. And I know Barry talks to you and so does Iris and Wally and Cisco..." She narrows her eyes. "Who do you talk to, Joe?" 

He doesn't answer that, because he can't. Just lifts his glass to his lips and drains it. 

And then, to hell with it. 

He signals for another glass. 

There's a wry smile on Caitlin's lips.  "That's what I thought." 

Joe sighs. "Caitlin..."

"I remember sitting beside you all those nights thinking how sad you looked, how stressed you were..." Her face brightens suddenly and she shakes her head as she laughs, her long curls swishing along her back. His thoughts take an uncomfortable, vaguely inappropriate direction as his fingers itch with not quite so sudden desire.   "The first time I saw you smile, after Barry woke up? I couldn't believe you were the same person." Her smile dims. "I remember wondering when I'd be able to smile like that again." 

His drink comes and he takes a long sip. Only when it's beside hers on the bar does she speak again. "When was the last time you smiled? Really smiled?" 

"Honestly?" He looks over at her. "I can't even remember." 

She doesn't look like she's happy to be right. 

"It's gonna be fine," he tells her, even if he's not sure he actually believes it himself. "I just gotta keep going... I'll get through it."

Whether he means this funk in general or these semi-inappropriate thoughts, he's not sure, but either way, it doesn't matter. 

He's done it before. He can do it again. 

"I know." Her voice is calm, confident. "But, Joe?" Her hand, small and warm, closes over his forearm. "You don't have to do it alone." 

His gaze falls down to her hand and just like he couldn't remember the last time he smiled, he can't remember the last time a woman touched him. Especially a woman who looks like Caitlin, who's staring at him with huge dark eyes, whose fingers are tightening on his arm as he drags his eyes up to meet hers. Which is when it registers that she's leaning in towards him, that her lips are only inches away from his...

And he knows this is a bad idea. 

They've both been drinking, even if it's not a lot. 

She's young enough to be his daughter, is friends with his kids. 

And these last couple of years, they've both been through enough heartache and hurt for several lifetimes. 

Kissing Caitlin is a complication he can easily do without. 

But then Caitlin kisses him, moves her lips against his, slides one hand around his neck, holds him in place. 

He could break away if he wanted to. 

Instead he kisses her back, even deepens the kiss. She lets out a breathy little moan that he wants to hear her make over and over again, even as he realises that they're in a public place and this is still not a good idea. 

But when he draws back, her fingers slide down his cheek. "That's more like it," she grins and it takes him way longer than it should to realise that he's smiling. 

Properly smiling. 

"Caitlin-" he begins, stops when she slides her hand into his, slides off the barstool and onto her feet. She wobbles a little and his hand goes to her hip to steady her. "You ok?"

She nods a little too quickly. "I think," she murmurs, her hand going to his chest, "that it would be an excellent idea if you took me home."

He walks her out to her car with a promise to follow her and he kisses her then because he has to, because he can't not, because the fire he feels inside can't only be blamed on the bourbon. It's more passionate than the last one, hands and lips and teeth involved, him pushing her against the car and pressing his body against hers and loving the way she moved against him. 

She's panting as she pulls away - so is he - but he finds breath enough to ask her one question. "Are you sure?"

Her eyes dance in the dim light. "Yes." 

It's the only word he needs to hear. 

The journey to her place is mercifully short and when they get there, what seemed so complicated turns out to be very simple indeed. 

And very, very good.  


End file.
